


Return to Owner

by Aate



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Creepy The Handler (Umbrella Academy), F/M, Hurt Number Five | The Boy, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, One-Sided Relationship, dubcon elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26191564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aate/pseuds/Aate
Summary: The Handler doesn't like it when something of hers escapes. She rather kills the thing than lets it go. The Hargreeves don't appreciate a creepy lady creeping on their littlest brother though, so there's that.
Relationships: Dolores/Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Number Five | The Boy/The Handler (Umbrella Academy)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 310





	1. Chapter 1

The first time, he was confused and didn’t understand what was happening until she was suddenly sitting on top of him, nude, mouthing his neck, her long fingernails scraping against sensitive skin. He hated her then, and with each touch his pent-up rage grew and grew until he reversed their positions and took his anger, confusion, and sorrow out on her. She wasn’t Delores – not gentle and kind and understanding – and he hated himself for it later, for how he betrayed his wife in his moment of weakness, but there was an empty void inside him and touching another human was a drug he was helpless to resist after so many decades spent in desolation.

When it was all over, he felt drained and emptier than ever, staring up at the ceiling fan as it went round and round and round with nowhere to go, and the Handler chuckled, patting his heaving chest, her voice still breathless as she said,

“Well, if that wasn’t the best fuck of my life. You’re just full of surprises, Five, aren’t you. I love it when you go all feral. It sure was worth it to wear my matching sexy underwear to work today.”

Five didn’t answer. He pushed her off him – _“Ah, not one for cuddling then, are we, my dear?”_ – rolled off the sofa and began to pull on his disregarded clothes.

Sex with Delores had been different. It had never left him feeling disgusted and guilty and sick to his stomach. He loathed himself – he had cheated on the love of his life – and couldn’t stand to look at the naked woman lounging on the sofa with a cigarette between her painted lips.

“Let’s do that again after lunch, shall we,” the Handler suggested through the teeth clenching the cigarette she was trying to light up, while he buckled his belt.

“No,” said Five and tied the tie with practiced ease despite of the slight shake of his hands. The thought of lunch had him feeling like vomiting. “We won’t do that ever again. We shouldn’t have done it at all. It was disgusting, and I have other priorities.”

The Handler put the lighter away and took a long draw, studying him.

“Well,” she finally said, as he was finished with his shoe laces, “’disgusting’ is a bit harsh, don’t you think. I’d say my performance was good. Granted, there is always room for improvement and I don’t mind constructive criticism, but-”

“I’m sorry,” Five cut her off and stood up straight, levelling her with a look, “if I gave you the impression I’m interested in anything other than a professional relationship with you. We will never have sex again, let me be clear about that. If you’d like, I can request a transfer to Assassins-B97, so we won’t need to be seeing each other around.”

“I once had a poodle.”

A hint of anger had appeared on her face and she pursed her lips, looking past him towards the locked door blocking them from the rest of the Commission.

“I once had a poodle,” she repeated, stretching like a feline, and he looked away from her nudity. “She never learnt to like me and one day she managed to escape because the idiotic gardener had left the door open. She found a new home at some granny’s place. Got steaks and was taken good care of, waggled that little tail all day long. The moral of the story, dearest?”

She waited for long enough for him to eventually look at her, and when he did, she took a long draw, glaring at him.

“I tracked her down,” she blew the smoke out, “and killed both bitches. Nothing that is mine leaves me – I rather kill my property than set it loose. You are now mine, Five. You gave yourself to me. Don’t turn into my poor little Puffkins. Your competence is such a turn-on and I’d hate to use the machete on you.”

The machete behind her desk gleamed in the cold office light and he gave it a glance when she pointed the cigarette at it. Unimpressed, he turned to walk away, snatching his hat from where he had left it on the hat rack.

* * *

She kept on touching him and calling him her sweetheart. It made him think of Delores and the betrayal burnt.

“Stop,” he always snapped, but the Handler never did, so eventually he stopped saying it.

Sometimes the touches disgusted him so much he threw up later when no-one was around to see it.

* * *

Amongst all the rubble and dust the high heels had looked like fresh blood. They still did, and their click-clack-clicking against the marble floor was a clock tick-tock-ticking down to the next tragedy, one she would order and he would carry out. Five didn’t enjoy killing – he never had – but he was precise and didn’t make mistakes; he couldn’t afford mistakes, not with his family on the line. He needed to excel, otherwise the Handler would have no need for him anymore and he might lose his access to the suitcases.

If only he could figure out the calculations faster. The longer it took him, the more people he would have to kill to buy time for his siblings.

He was only missing a few decimals. If he could just-

“There you are, my sweetheart.”

Stepping into the room, the Handler flashed him a grin and pulled the door closed behind her. As she click-clack-clicked by him with her blood-red heels and equally reddened lips, she slowed down to run a hand down his chest.

“This coat is too coarse for you,” she marked in passing. “Try softer fabrics. Wool, perhaps. I could recommend a Swedish tailor specialized in gentlemen’s clothing. He’s at his best in 1946, if you’re interested.”

As her touch left him, Five considered the machete on the wall behind her desk, but resisted the urge to cleave her hand off with it. He still needed her, hands and all. Just as she had use for him.

“The coat’s fine. Let’s get on with the meeting.”

He didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. According to the Commission-approved clock used mostly for counting in the work hours, he had been waiting in her office for twenty-eight minutes, in total. She had wasted _twenty-eight of his minutes_ when his siblings’ lives depended on him and he didn’t have any time to waste, the bitch.

He wouldn’t forget this.

“Always so grumpy and impatient,” the Handler chided him as she hung her green overcoat up on the coat hanger. “I do adore you, but I wish you’d realize there really is no need for such impatience – we have plenty of time here at the Commission. And there is actually an abundance of it for you and I, my love, if we so decide.”

With a small smile playing on her painted lips, she looked him up and down, smoothing down her skirt in a way that revealed quite a bit of thigh. He snapped his gaze away, gritting his teeth, and slumped down onto one of the two rocky chairs in front of her desk, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Why am I here?” he gritted out, glaring at the Commission-approved clock, and she chuckled, letting her skirt fall back down before taking a seat opposite him at the desk.

“I do so love it when you come to me for answers, dearest.”

She handed him an envelope, the newest Order.

* * *

He was to kill a Livonian family. The death of the family in 1891 would be the catalyst that would eventually lead to the death of the entire language, and while Five didn’t really give a shit about some minor language either way, Ben would’ve undoubtedly freaked out, the language nerd that he was.

As he reached the home of his Livonian targets, Five muted the part of his mind that held in his siblings and his dearest memories of Delores – he never brought his family to the jobs. His chest ached like always on missions and he waited until there was a white buzz surrounding his thoughts like a cushion. His body moved, but it was like he was watching himself from afar.

Which meant he was ready.

It was the kid, a teen girl in a white nightgown, he encountered first in the hallway, and he had snapped her neck before the look of startled surprise had even fully formed on her face. He found her parents in a study unaware they no longer had a child, as they leant over an open book in mid-conversation over some paragraph or another, and Five was as quick about it as he could. The twinkle in the father’s eyes faded away and the Livonian language would eventually follow, and had Klaus been there, he would’ve seen three more ghosts following his misplaced brother.

Klaus…

Suddenly Five missed his siblings so much the agony brought him to his knees in the puddle of the mother’s pooling blood.

As Five looked up at the bloodied couple slumped over the book, it became increasingly hard for him to breathe. Reginald had never diagnosed him with asthma, so the apocalyptic fumes must have done something to his lungs. The constant chest pains and the breathing problems had only grown worse after Five had begun to work with the Handler, though he never mentioned the pains to her or anyone else.

(Delores had known, of course, and had seen him when he had struggled to breath with black spots dancing in his vision. Delores had known him better than he knew himself. And somehow she had still found it in her heart to love him, truly and earnestly.)

There was a fly sitting up on the desk lamp, wiping its face with its hands. It was hard to breathe, Five was choking and the world was spinning out of control all around him, so he focused on the fly. Gasping for air, about to throw up, he studied its tiny hands and its efforts to wash itself. It wanted to be clean and to fly away, through the window. It wanted to be free, or perhaps it had a family waiting for him. He just wanted to go home and be done with all this shit. He was just a fly. He wanted a normal life with his family. He could’ve become a vet or something. A fireman. The world’s worst teacher.

Delores had talked about wanting children.

Delores. Oh, Delores, the love of his life…

The hilt of the machete was cold and hard to touch, and Five grounded himself by grasping it in his fist, abandoning agony in favor of rage. It was easier to be angry. Anger he could handle, so he listed to himself all the ways he hated his life, and gradually the rage calmed his breathing down.

With some effort, gritting his teeth, Five climbed up to his feet, wiping sweat and blood splatters off his face with his coat sleeve.

The Handler had said she expected the machete back. Five made sure to take it with him when he left the home of the dead Livonians, but he didn’t bother wiping the blood off it. The messy blade would inconvenience the Handler, and he took his victories where he could.

* * *

_Hello, I’m Eddie, and I want you to know YOU’VE GOT RIGHTS!_

Gritting his teeth, Five looked up from the nametag and forced a smile on his face. Eddie was one of the most annoying people he had ever met, but he needed to be nice: Eddie had a coffee machine on his desk. Eddie made coffee. And most importantly, Eddie didn’t mind sharing a cup or hundred with his coworkers.

Behind his smart glasses Eddie was also an idiot who didn’t notice there was an exasperated assassin standing in front of his desk. And since the bastard didn’t look up and ask if he wanted coffee, Five had no choice but to say something himself. It took a few awkward moments of pondering, but eventually he was fairly confident he had come up with something suitable to say to achieve his goal.

“May I have a cup of coffee, please?” he therefore asked, the forced smile never once faltering, and Eddie gave a start, looking up. The smile Five then found himself receiving was as bright as the perfect white teeth the smile revealed.

Five looked away. His eyes burnt.

“Number Five!” Eddie said the name like nothing gave him more delight and he jumped up to his feet, reaching over the desk to shake Five’s hand. “I would _absolutely love_ to pour you a mug, again!”

Annoyingly perky, Eddie hurried to rummage through the cupboard behind his desk while chatting about mugs and coffee and “I’m so glad you stopped by” and “no sugar, black – of course I remember!” Soon he re-emerged with a mug that would fit a truly generous amount of coffee in it, and some of Five’s irritation faded away, as always tended to happen when he watched Eddie.

Unfortunately, the very next instant the irritation flooded back when Eddie just had to go and say,

“As a representative of the Workers’ Union of the United Labourers of the Temps Commission, I must take this opportunity to remind you that you are entitled up to thirty vacation days per a working year.”

“I just want the coffee,” Five cut him off before Eddie could really get going. “No union talk.

“…please,” he added because he didn’t feel like being a jerk to Eddie.

“That works too,” said Eddie, his smile nonetheless fading a little, as he reached for the coffee pot. “But just so you know, Sir, _you’ve got rights_ , and if you ever feel like you are being mistreated, the Workers’ Union of the United Labourers of the Temps Commission _will_ help you. You just need to reach out to me and I’ll do all in my power to help.”

“Thanks,” muttered Five, drinking in the sight of Eddie when the man was focused on pouring the coffee. It wasn’t just the coffee that drew him to visit Eddie regularly, after all.

When he reached the office door with his steaming coffee mug, Five lingered, reluctant to leave as always, and pretended to glance at the clock behind Eddie’s desk in order to get one last good view of the man. Behind the glasses, he looked so very similar to Diego. It twisted something in Five’s heart.

“See you soon, brother,” he whispered with yearning, so softly Eddie couldn’t hear. Perhaps one day he wouldn’t need to search for his siblings in the faces of his work acquaintances. Perhaps one day he would get to see his siblings in all actuality.

* * *

He threw himself into the time hole – and found himself surrounded by his siblings in his thirteen-year-old body.

“Looks like the gardener left the door open again,” sighed the Handler when she heard the news some time later. “Poor little Puffkins.”

The machete on the wall was bloody. No-one had bothered to clean it after Five's mission LI-290b.


	2. Chapter 2

This was the moment he had worked towards for decades, ever since he had run off, naively believing himself to be invincible – and now that his siblings were suddenly there, right _there_ in front of him within reaching distance, it suddenly felt like he wasn’t actually there himself. He was watching himself from above and speaking words with someone else’s mouth.

Yet, Vanya was just as fragile as he had remembered and Klaus was looking at him with eyes deep as River of Death, and Five’s resolve only strengthened. He didn’t give a shit about the world, but his love for his siblings had only grown in his years of near total isolation. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for them. For them, he had murdered. For them, he had come back. For them, he _would_ stop the apocalypse.

* * *

At some point during their acquaintance, the Handler had managed to put a literal goddamn tracker in him. After killing the Commission agents who had predictably come after him, he carved it out of his flesh with a knife and threw it into the sewers, fantasizing about doing the same to her body.

* * *

“You sound disgusting when you eat.”

Five paused, frowning at Diego over the newspaper he had been eyeing in case something of relevance in it would catch his attention. Like most things in life, the paper had so far proven to be useless, although the comics in it were refreshingly entertaining – not that he would have admitted as much to anyone.

“Seriously, Luther, you sound like an actual pig. Oink oink, pass me the milk, please, oink oink.”

Like Five, Luther’s hand had come to a momentary halt, but it now resumed its process of spooning up the porridge Grace had made for them for breakfast.

“The next time I’ll fart, cherish it,” said Luther, studying the porridge in his bowl like it was a void about to suck him back to the Moon, “because that’s as close as you’ll ever get to me giving a shit about you or your opinions.”

“At least close your goddamn mouth when you chew, you goddamn pig.”

“Diego,” came Vanya’s soft voice on Five’s right and a tentative hand reached out to touch Diego’s arm. “Please, don’t-“

“I don’t want to see the food in your mouth when you chew,” Diego ignored her. “It’s gross, so close your goddamn mouth when you chew. Did you not hear me? Or do you not understand English? Sorry, I’d say that in your native language, but I don’t speak Ape.”

Luther’s spoon snapped in half.

“Boys!” Allison raised her voice, blowing in the steaming tea cup she was holding in her hands, just as Diego pulled his arm out of Vanya’s reach. “Let’s not be rude to each other first thing in the morning, okay? You can do it later, if you must. Preferably when I’m not around.”

Five put the newspaper away and reached for his cup. At unease, he took a mouthful of coffee, studying his siblings.

They were hurting. Dad’s death – the lack of closure, all the unfinished things never to be solved – had left them hurting and lost. They were in varying stages of dealing with their childhood traumas, Luther only just coming to accept the fact that they had all been abused by the man who had been supposed to be their protector.

When Diego and Luther lashed out at each other, when Vanya jumped at her own shadow, when the smile didn’t reach Allison’s vacant eyes and when Klaus giggled endlessly at his own hands calling them bathing ducks, Five was lost. He was there to save his siblings from the apocalypse, but he didn’t know how to save them from themselves, from each other, from their cruel words meant to cut, from the void that had grown so vast between them not even their silence could be heard from it.

Five didn’t _fix_ things. He didn’t fix _people_. Couldn’t. Didn’t know how to. Had he known, he would’ve started with himself.

The only time he had seen happy families was right before he had left them in bloodied puddles. That’s what happened to families – they were destroyed.

Except he wouldn’t let that happen to his family.

The coffee was bitter. Brazilian. Good enough.

“I love you all,” said Klaus from where he was slouching on the countertop in Allison’s nightgown, eating Cheerios straight out of the box like some might snack on popcorn, “but can you please, please, _please_ stop shouting? _Ben_ doesn’t like it. It hurts his sensitive ears, poor thing. You don’t want to torture Ben, do you? He’s already dead, you know, so don’t be cruel to him. _Shut up, idiot. No-one asked you._ ”

The last part was said to the seemingly empty chair in the kitchen corner with Klaus sticking his tongue out at it. Five made sure to give the wobbly chair a nod in greeting. He did miss Ben. He suspected they all did.

“Why are you eating that shit anyway when Mom went through all the trouble of preparing us healthy breakfast?” asked Diego, his tone half curious, half accusing, as he gestured at Klaus’ cereal box with his spoon. “You do know that’s basically nothing but sugar, right?”

“I sure do.” Klaus’s grin revealed his teeth. “Finally a cereal just as sweet as I am.”

Five let his eyes linger on Klaus' face before they moved on to Allison. He looked at each of his siblings in turn, drinking in the sight of them ruffled in the morning, savoring their features like the taste of quality coffee.

They looked pretty much the same as… as before. That was to say, they looked like their corpses. Luther was wearing the same coat in which Five had buried him, Diego was still carrying knives in his person. Klaus had the same tattoos. Allison was missing the wound in her throat, but her hair was similar.

Without Five, they would have six days to live.

He had never found Vanya’s body and that hadn’t ceased to haunt him.

“You really should take better care of yourself,” Luther was saying to Klaus – only for Diego to slam his spoon onto the table so hard Vanya’s coffee spilled.

“Don’t you tell Klaus what he should and shouldn’t do! You’ll never earn our respect anyway, so you might as well stop pretending to be our _dear old Dad_.”

“And you might as well stop blaming me for the bad relationship you had with Dad.

“And more importantly,” Luther went on, glaring at Diego, “I’ll eat however I like, and if _someone_ doesn’t like it, _someone_ can go eat elsewhere. No-one would miss them anyway.”

“No-one would miss _you_ or your gigantic ass.”

“Guys-“ began Vanya from where she was wiping the spilled coffee away with a napkin, but she was cut off by Allison, who slapped Diego in the back of the head with the pink fan Klaus had left on the table.

“Shut it, you two. You’re scaring Five. Look at him.”

As five pairs of eyes turned to study Five, the room fell silent. Whatever his siblings saw on his face was enough for Diego to school his features and for Klaus to sit up straight. Luther stopped chewing and actually closed his mouth, swallowing, and Vanya fingered her coffee-stained napkin and moved a little closer like she wanted to reach out to Five but was fearful of the reaction she would get.

Allison did actually reach out, taking the coffee cup out of his hands and putting it onto the table, covering his cold fingers with her warm hands. For an embarrassingly long moment Five could just stare at her.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him like that. Like a

like a mother.

Were his hands shaking or was she moving them?

“It’s okay, Five,” Allison spoke in a soft voice. “I know they were being loud, but they’re not going to hurt you. We love you. You don’t need to be afraid.”

That was enough to snap Five back to action. He was quick to pull his hands away from hers, shaking or otherwise, and to jump up to his feet.

“They are _not_ scaring me,” he said with emphasis, more insulted or appalled, he couldn’t decide. “I’m _not_ afraid and I'm not a fucking child, so don't coddle me like one. There is literally nothing any of you idiots could do to scare me. I’m a middle-aged assassin. I’ve killed people, countless of them. I almost died of starvation, twice. I almost had to amputate my own fucking leg when it got infected. There are people who would pay to see me tortured to death because they know what I’ve done, what I’m capable of doing. I am _not_ scared of my stupid immature brothers behaving like children at the breakfast table!”

No-one looked convinced, much to his chagrin.

“You are idiots!”

“Aww,” said Klaus, tilting his head to the side as he regarded Five with adoring eyes. “He’s adorable. You have to be soulless to haunt someone as cute as that, am I right?

“I know he’s fifty-eight, you ass,” he snapped the next instance, rolling his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Ben, why are you always such a moody jerk in the mornings. You don’t even sleep. No, _you_ shut up.”

Diego was rubbing his neck.

“Sorry for being all aggressive, buddy,” he said with a grimace, meeting Five's eyes before glancing at Luther sheepishly. “Sorry, man. I was being an antagonizing ass.”

“It's okay,” said Luther automatically. "I was annoying you on purpose by eating as loudly as I could. I know how much you hate loud eating. And Allison is right."

He said the last part to Five, looking at Five with earnesty.

"You’re safe with us, Number Five."

“I’ve killed people!”

“I’m sorry we raised our voices," for once Diego agreed with Luther. "You don't need to fear us. We wouldn't, you know. Hurt you, or some shit.”

“Are you okay?” asked Vanya, studying Five with concern written all over her face.

“ _I’m_ dangerous! I’m not scared of any of you! If anything, _you_ should be scared of _me_.”

“Why don’t you sit down?” suggested Allison, placating, and Five reminded himself he loved his siblings _so very much_ he had killed people for them. He would do anything for his siblings. He loved them.

“I hate you all,” he said with all the sincerity he could muster. “From the bottom of my heart.”

And because he loved his siblings so very much and didn’t want to drown any of them in his coffee cup, Five folded the newspaper under his arm and took the coffee cup, still somewhat full.

“You are all idiots,” he announced, “and I don’t have time for this.”

Klaus waved at him with the cereal box.

“Cheerios, littlest brother!” he said, just as Five popped out of the room.

He popped into the living room with his coffee and newspaper – only to come face to face with two masked people who pointed their guns at him. If the two were surprised to see him, he couldn’t tell, what with the animal masks covering their faces.

“This,” said Five, sipping his coffee, “is the most dangerous place for you two to be right now because one, you’re interrupting my breakfast, and two, I don’t like unannounced surprise guests."

They looked somewhat familiar, even with the masks on. He had probably had lunch at the Commission cafeteria at the same time with them at some point over the years. Not that Five particularly cared either way – these two meant nothing to him. They had come to his home, they were a potential danger to his family. Based on their appearances – and the fact that they were pointing guns at him – they were Commission agents, although without a suitcase. So, Commission agents, not the type to do things by the book. Possibly somewhat rebellious, dissatisfied with the management. Yet, wearing masks, careful not to be identified.

"Why haven't you tried to shoot me yet?"

“This is so fucked up,” said the taller of the masked agents, a larger male, instead of answering Five's question, his voice muffled by the bear mask. “He’s a child. We seriously can’t. I mean, it’s just so fucked up.”

“Oh, don’t patronize me,” Five sniffed and sat down on the sofa, crossing his feet up on the footstool before spreading the newspaper out on his lap. “People bigger than you have tried and failed to kill me.”

“We’re not here to kill you, kid. We’re here to make a delivery,” said the shorter figure, a woman, and moved her head so sharply towards her companion the black ears of her pink dog mask flapped around. “Give it to him.”

The man flinched.

“It’s super fucked up,” Five heard him mumbling. “I mean, that’s a _kid_. He’s, like, _twelve_ -”

“I’m fifty-eight.”

“-and the management is full of shit, if they expect us to go through with this. This is seriously beyond fucked up. We can’t. I can’t. I mean it.”

“We have to,” she said, “and we’re not having this discussion here where the kid can hear us.”

“I’m not a _kid_.”

“I wouldn’t mind shooting the kid, or pulling his intestines out through his throat, but I’m not doing this. Seriously. I can’t.”

“Fine,” she sighed after a pause. “Give it to me then and I’ll give it to him.”

Curious, Five looked on as the man reached for something in his pocket. It looked like fabric and he handed it to the woman, who then proceeded to walk towards Five. Ready to jump to action, Five put the coffee cup on the sofa table and kept an eye on them both as she approached.

“Here,” the woman said once she was close enough and threw the thing at Five. It landed on top of the newspaper in his lap.

Women’s underpants. Transparent red fabric with a small satin bow in the front. A small size. Crotchless. Smelling like they had been recently used. It was obvious who had sent them. Unfortunately, Five had seen these before. He recognized them.

Suddenly he could feel her mouth on his skin, wet and slimy like a snail, her sharp nails scratching him, her fingers touching as they liked, cold and uncaring of him. He willed her underwear gone, but they remained in his lap, taunting, mocking. He didn’t want them there.

“We were told to tell you to have fun with them while you still can.”

“Sorry,” said the man and he sounded like he meant it. “It’s so fucked up that someone from the management would want to send _those_ to a _child_.”

Holding on to the very edge of paper, Five closed the newspaper to get “those” out of his sight. His hands felt dirty.

“Leave my home,” he said, as he let the newspaper with its contents drop to the floor with a soft thump, “or I will strangle you with the pantaloons of your boss.”

He needed to wash his hands.

“I believe those are called tangas,” said the woman. “Pantaloons are more conservative.”

“-but we get your point,” finished the man for them both, elbowing his companion.

The agents left without a bullet being shot. Five considered killing them nonetheless for invading his home, the home of his siblings, but something in him was too dull to take such action. Besides, he had other priorities. The apocalypse, for one. He couldn’t think of some- some… when he had an apocalypse to prevent. He needed to focus, to save his siblings.

“Sorry,” the man turned to say once more when the two agents were standing outside on the stairs, and Five slammed the door to his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I just had to write something because the show is amazing and it'll take a while till we get a new season.
> 
> Let me know, if you liked it/if you'd like to read more. :)


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